


Take to the Sky

by Vince_ible



Series: Happy Endings [1]
Category: Invincible (Image Comics)
Genre: Fatherhood, Fear of Flying, Flying, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Marky is a product of rape so there's issues, Past Sexual Assault, father-daughter bonding, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 10:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vince_ible/pseuds/Vince_ible
Summary: Part 1 of a written sequel-universe to Invincible. Possibly? Set six months after Mark leaves Earth.Earth had been gnawing at Mark Grayson.It started like an itch-an annoyance at best, easily ignored in the scheme of things. Ever since he'd left Earth, Mark's life had been one, long, non-stop series of tasks. Planet-saving efforts and managing an ex-Empire left little time to relax or reflect on his home. Granted, there were moments of peace, moments where those thoughts could creep into his subconscious. More and more, Mark would catch himself ruminating on that single, small sphere where he'd been born, and more importantly, a little boy who lived somewhere on its surface.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a lil' collection consisting of short, slow, fluffy scenes. There's a little bit of angst, but mostly feel-good father-son bonding between Mark and Marky. We don't really get into Mark's head much because of the style Invincible is written in, what with the minimal thought bubbles, so this was a fun experiment :0. Hopefully I did his voice justice, even if my writing is sometimes more formal than he is eep.
> 
> Realistically, Marky being a product of trauma wouldn't do any favours for his relationship with his bio-Dad, but Mark's gonna give it a shot.
> 
> Obligatory notice: I'm Canadian, so some of the spellings I use are British, and some are not. "Grey", "colour", etc. No, they are not typos, and please don't point them out. Big pet peeve ily.

**Take to the Sky (Part 1/2)**

* * *

Earth had been gnawing at Mark Grayson.

It started like an itch-an annoyance at best, easily ignored in the scheme of things. Ever since he'd left Earth, Mark's life had been one, long, non-stop series of tasks. Planet-saving efforts and managing an ex-Empire left little time to relax or reflect on his home. Granted, there _were_ moments of peace, moments where those thoughts could creep into his subconscious. More and more, Mark would catch himself ruminating on that single, small sphere where he'd been born, and more importantly, a little boy who lived somewhere on its surface.

"I think it's time," he told Eve one cycle.

By now Eve knew him too well to ask what he meant. Six of Earth's months had passed since they'd first departed, and it'd clearly been sitting heavily on her thoughts as well. No discussion was necessary—Mark simply set a course for home that same cycle.

They took the main vessel, the only remaining Viltrumite warship, except these days it was far from that. What had once been built to be a weapon was now mere transport, a glorified RV, and Mark intended to keep it that way. Many Viltrumites and their families asked to accompany them back, and Mark didn't have the heart to say no. He wasn't the only one who had left behind friends and family in the mass exodus.

Terra was less than pleased to hear the news, to say the least. For some inconceivable reason, Earth had lost a lot of its appeal after she learned of Marky's existence.

"Earth is lame!"

"_You're_ lame!" Mark gasped, playfully. "That's your namesake, little lady, so don't diss it."

She charged at him like a little, open-mouthed cannonball, siren-screams like a Stuka plane. Wheezing, Mark caught her in the gut and doubled over. Few projectiles could truly hurt him, Terra included, but Mark had learned the hard way that Viltrimute children still packed quite the punch. What was worse was that they rarely knew their own strength. It was a dangerous combination in a child, and that sheer, undisciplined strength had resulted in damage to the ship on more than one occasion.

Recovering rapidly, Mark lifted her up by the back of her shirt like it was the scruff of a puppy. Seconds passed where he just stared her down at arm's length, eyes narrowed. For her part, Terra tried her best to look abashed, legs tucked as she dangled. Only after she'd mumbled an apology did he set her down. Although she stood somewhat repentant, Mark could see that she was already anticipating a lecture. The attention was fading from her face, and her eyes were glazing over. Rather than going for the long-winded approach, Mark went straight to the point.

"We're going to visit your Grandma and Marky, and you're going to be polite," he told her in calm, simple terms. There was an undercurrent of command there, one usually reserved for the rare, rebellious Viltrumite from Thragg's brood.

"He's lame too."

"He's your brother," he reminded her, sternly.

Her arms crossed, lips pursing into a pout before she spoke. "I don't _wanna_ brother."

_And I didn't want a son_, Mark's mind screamed at him. Taming those socially unacceptable thoughts was a challenge, but a necessary one. Instead, Mark firmly said, "Well, we don't get to pick our family. We're going to visit your brother, and I want you two to get along. Got it?"

"I'll be good if _he's_ less lame-"

"_Terra Gray-_"

"'KAY 'KAY I'll be nice! Jeez!"

An approving grin broke out across Mark's face, and in that moment, all was forgiven. The entire temper tantrum was water under the bridge. Sensing her father's shift in mood, Terra leapt straight into his arms, this time with much more care and control. Mark caught her without much thought, fingers diving into her sides to half-heartedly tickle her. He took a certain comfort in this routine of theirs, in hearing her high giggles and squeals. From age five and onward, Terra had always demonstrated an uncanny knowledge of how to best push his buttons, in more ways than one. He was putty in her hands, utterly helpless to her cuteness.

"It's impossible to stay mad at you, you little suck-up..."

* * *

**/**

* * *

For the sake of those hybrids too young to use their powers, Mark opted to send out a party directly to the planet itself. Punctual as usual, the Immortal gave them clearance to land. To avoid causing public panic, they chose a touchdown site in the countryside, far removed from any densely-populated settlements. The only witnesses to their descent were a small, rural family, and Mark's people had no problems befriending them. Fortunately, the novelty of having a UFO parked in their fallow-field did wonders to warm the farmers to their extraterrestrial visitors.

Once everyone was settled, Mark flew with his family into the city. Eve constructed one of her signature pink bubbles around herself and Terra whilst Mark pushed from behind. They were quite the silly sight, but from such a height they were practically invisible to the naked eye. And anyway, appearances were the last things on Mark's mind in this setting.

Every minute escalated his mounting excitement. Each building looked more and more familiar, until finally, they transitioned into the suburbs of his youth. Nostalgia washed over Mark like a tidal wave. There were Amber's and William's childhood homes, and not far away, his own. Though it'd been blown up before, everything looked exactly the same. Robot had rebuilt it into a perfect replica as a peace gesture to Nolan. It'd been the least he could do, seeing as how _he_ was responsible for blowing it up in the first place. All in the past...

Eve had called ahead, so Debbie was waiting outside for them when they arrived. She was sitting on a patio chair in the backyard, legs crossed in a sophisticated manner. Seeing her sent a lump down Mark's windpipe, and his lungs floundered in his chest. From a distance, she was just the same as he remembered her. As they got closer, however, he started to take note of the extra grey hairs, the lines along her forehead.

_Shit_, sometimes he really wished he could've convinced her to come with him into space. Every moment away from Earth was irretrievable time spent away from his mother.

The super-Graysons alighted like some sort of bizarre flock. As soon as Terra was free of Eve's protective sphere, she surged forward and bulldozed into Debbie's arms. Short of breath, but laughing all the same, Debbie squeezed her tight. It was a touching reunion between grandmother and granddaughter, and one Mark didn't dare interrupt. Nevertheless, his impatience was piqued the longer the hug went on. At last, Debbie released Terra and turned to Mark. They regarded each other, before Debbie clasped her hands around her son's broad shoulders.

"Hey Mom," Mark murmured softly. He felt Eve's eyes on his back, and that brought him a bit of strength.

"How the hell have you been?" she returned, voice trembling like the string of some instrument.

Even after all these years, her voice brought back fond memories of Mark's childhood on Earth. Nolan had been an... _inconsistent_ example after Mark reached adulthood, sparing any exaggeration. Beloved, yes, beyond a doubt, but morally ambiguous. On the other hand, Debbie was a constant force for good in Mark's life. Wherever his travels took him, somehow it was always the image of his mother that made him want to be _better,_ to do her proud.

"Oh, you know, parenthood, ruling a people, space sharks, alien hitchhikers, plumbing issues, general space stuff..."

"I'm bored already," snickered Debbie, and Mark couldn't quite pin down if she was being sarcastic or not. "Tell me more about it when we get inside~"

* * *

**/**

* * *

His return to non-urban Maryland was marked with trepidation. Eve had parted ways to be with her parents for the day, so Mark was left to brave the next encounter alone. To his shame, the flight there was a slow and stalling one. It felt like Eve's parents were on the other end of the journey, and not his own kin, a _child,_ really. Mark pushed himself to hurry, shoving down his silly misgivings. Eventually, his destination came into sight.

If there was one thing Mark could be grateful to Anissa for—besides the heroic circumstances of her death—it was the fact that she had raised her children in a perfect setting. Anissa had set her Earth family up in a beautiful, red-bricked dwelling, surrounded by lush, green scenery. The windows were wide to allow an in-pouring of sunlight, and the stories were tall and airy. It was the ideal place for two Viltrumite children to grow up: idyllic, but not so isolated as to stunt them socially. They were still in range of the district school buses, and by now Marky would be in first grade...

Somehow that realization frightened Mark. Unconsciously, he sped up, landed on the doorstep, and knocked before he could backpedal. The house immediately came alive at the intrusion.

Inside, someone screamed, "_DAD, SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR._" The squall of a baby chimed in, and Mark winced. It was possible that he had knocked too loud, forgotten to check his strength because he was so high-strung. The deeper, distant tones of a man followed next, dying down into soothing sounds. Once the baby's cries had ceased, footsteps came up to the door, and Mark found himself face-to-face with Scott Murphy.

Scott was an ordinary-looking man, and his interior didn't contradict that unassuming exterior. His skin and short-sheered hair were dark, and he wore square-shaped glasses. Judging by the greying edges of his hair and the worn wrinkles of his face, Mark would place him anywhere between fifty and sixty in age. Sitting in his arms was a baby girl, lounging comfortably and chewing on her fist.

There was a distinctly _human _fragility and strength to Scott. He was the last sort of person that Mark would expect someone like Anissa to fall for, and he had a feeling that her affections had been just as much of a surprise to Scott as they were to Mark, and maybe Anissa herself. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Mark would never be able to ask her about that. He could only speculate on her behalf, though he loathed to think about her for a moment longer than what was required.

"Sorry about that," Mark managed, and though he tried for a smile, it never quite reached his eyes.

The shock speedily faded from Scott's face, as if he'd been expecting this moment sooner rather than later. "Mark. Um, welcome back? Want to come in?" Scott offered with surprising friendliness. He was taking this in much better stride than Mark was.

Try as he might, Mark's next response was far too awkward for his tastes. He couldn't help it, couldn't help but seethe as he thought about how this mere human had loved and mollified someone that Mark had only ever known as a monster. "Ah, no. Actually, I'd rather talk with you outside for a second, if that's OK?"

Scott complied, attending to his baby whenever she started to fuss. They had just started to discuss why Mark was here when yet another person dashed out the door, latching possessively onto Scott's left hand.

The first thing that Mark noticed was his size. He was absolutely struck by how much Marky had matured in the span of six mere months. His son had gained a good two inches in height _at least_, and his face was slightly less round, though no less innocent. To some the change might've seemed subtle, but to Mark it was staggering. After that aging incident with Terra, any lost time, however unavoidable, felt like millennia.

"You've grown," Mark croaked out.

Oblivious to the turmoil in his father's voice, Marky began to beam. "Yeah! I turned six while you were away."

_Christ, _the way the kid spoke, the clarity and enunciation in comparison to their last talk... Mark hated it, hated how it evidenced growth in not just body but in speech and mind. He quickly quashed that irrational resentment before it could flash onto his face. There was no need to upset Marky for something he had no control over.

Mark managed a smile, though he didn't share in his son's excitement. "Oh?"

"Mhm! We went bowling and had a party at the bowling place and all my friend's from school came to share cake and-"

"Let's not talk the man's ear off, Marky," interjected Scott, words chiding but eyes soft. Mark waved a dismissive hand at him. Truth be told, he was just glad that the boy's usual shyness around him had all but evaporated, or so it seemed.

"How would you like to have a sleepover at Grandma's tonight?" proposed Mark promptly.

Apparently the prospect of sleeping at another person's house was enough to make Marky squeal, though shortly afterwards his face became troubled. "Can Molly come too?"

"Um..." He and Scott shared an uncomfortable look. "I think she's a little too young to be-"

"But I can't leave her alone!" Marky protested, aghast.

Snorting amusedly, Scott said, "Marky, I _promise_ you, she'll be safe with just me for one night."

Another pause reigned as Marky digested this information, both his biological father's offer, and his step-father's reassurance. Marky relinquished his hold on his father's hand with a muttered, "Okay", sounding dubious as he did. With all the timidness of a stray puppy, he took Mark's hand instead. Though his face betrayed nothing, Mark's throat and heart were tight with mixed emotions. When he spoke, his tone was stiff.

"It's settled then. I'll drop him off around... say, noon?"

"Sounds good to me. Just-" A sliver of a scruple rested heavy on Scott's brow. "-Take care of him for me."

Trying not to take offence, Mark said, "Of course..."

In took only minutes for Marky to pack the necessary toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes for tomorrow. Mark waited on the front lawn, hovering to occupy himself. He wasn't bored so much as he was anxious, a sentiment that was seemingly shared with his son. Scott guided Marky back outside, and waved when Mark ferried him into the sky.

Almost immediately, Mark knew something was off. Marky wouldn't or couldn't stay still, alternating between squirming in his arms or clutching at his shirt. As the trip wore on, Marky's reactions worsened. It got the point where Mark was having difficulties carrying him, and if not for his superior strength, he might've lost his grip somewhere over rural Maryland.

"Kid!" Mark finally chided, irked, confused, and most importantly, concerned. "_Marky!_ Stop!"

Mark's demands only served to escalate Marky's panic. He gasped out a strained sound and hammered at Mark's chest, prompting him to slow in case the kid was suffocating. Although Marky's powers had emerged many months ago, Mark's own experiences with Terra and the other Viltrumite children told him that they weren't the best at remembering how to hold a breath. The colour returned to Marky's skin, though he still shook and shuddered violently. When he tried to speak, choked squeaks came out.

Thoroughly alarmed by now, Mark swooped down low. The only goal in his mind was to close the remaining distance to his mother's home as soon as possible. Many miles were traversed in half of a minute before Mark touched down on the lawn. For once, the firm ground and the common grass felt like a blessing beneath his feet.

Upon landing, Marky immediately scurried away, leaving Mark bemused. Up the stairs he went, obviously relieved and already recovered from his ordeal. For a few seconds Mark just stood in place, in a stupor. Only after he'd finished processing did he speak.

"...What the _hell _was that."

* * *

**/**

* * *

"What do you mean he doesn't fly?!" asked Mark, aghast.

Debbie was elbow-deep in dishwater when she replied, "I only said I've never _seen_ him fly. It never bothered me before. Marky has always been an angel, and I just figured he was abiding by the house rules."

A groan trickled through Mark's gritted teeth. Debbie caught it and shot her son a disapproving look, but Mark's mind was elsewhere. What had he been thinking, trusting his mother or Scott to take care of this? To _know_ these things? Of _course_ they wouldn't be bothered by Marky's lack of flight; they were only human. He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mark muttered, "Where is he now?"

"Outside, playing with Terra, last I saw."

A condemning thought froze Mark in place. _This is my fault._ If Eve were here, she could've reassured him otherwise, but she wasn't. _This is _my_ fault._ That single fact utterly engrossed him. Full of shame, he fixated on it, agonized over it.

Right then and there, Mark resolved himself to seeing this through. He'd hoped to only stay for a few days, but seeing this boy, so fearful of flying even a few feet off the ground... An extended visit might be in order. There was no way Mark could leave him alone, not like this. For now his fear was benign, but in the future it could develop into a serious detriment on his abilities.

Lost in his thoughts, Mark took over doing the dishes whilst Debbie turned her attention to a batch of cookie dough. The mundane nature of the activity sparked forth many memories. They emerged from his brain as if buried. He could remember washing dishes in this same place and at a similar sink with his father, before things all went south. Things were a lot simpler back then—the worst of his worries tended to fall into the categories of chores or his job. His fingers aimlessly scrubbed at the inside of a bowl, and in his distraction the seconds stretched into minutes. Perhaps he had spent too long on that single dish, because Debbie eventually snapped him back to attention with an _"ahem"_.

"Go talk to him," she ordered, still stirring chocolate chips into the in-progress cookie dough. "I'll finish here. Maybe send Terra inside instead."

Mark breathed gratefully, already drifting to the door. It was hard to keep a handle on his speed. "Thank you, Mom. We'll be back before supper. Save us some of those cookies."

If Debbie pitched in a reply, Mark never heard it. In a rare moment of cordiality, Terra and Marky were playing a peaceful game of catch. Mark sensed some competitiveness from either end, but both children were behaving relatively well. It reminded Mark of happier days in this very backyard, playing catch with Nolan, and later, Oliver. For once he was almost reluctant to part the children from each other.

"Terra? Why don't you head on inside? Maybe help your Grandma make those cookies."

An accusing flash came over her eyes as she dropped the baseball. Marky just watched the encounter unfold, mouth agape. "Why does _he_ get to stay outside?" she asked, not without a hint of jealousy. The girl was keen of mind and had her parents' temper to boot, a combination that was often Mark's downfall despite his pride in her. She guessed what was happening in a heartbeat, "Are you taking him flying?"

"Terra, _now._ _We'll_ fly together tomorrow."

Huffing, she shuffled off inside, leaving a quivering Marky alone with his equally perturbed father. Aside from their flight here, this was the first time Mark had been alone with him since their first, real chat, and before that, their official introduction in the sky. That felt like forever ago—fresh, but somehow faraway at the same time. Up close Mark could see more, subtle similarities to Anissa, similarities that he had either ignored or overlooked in the boy's overwhelming resemblance to himself. It was mostly in the eyes...

With a smile that felt more fake than real, Mark knelt. He had to gauge the extent of the problem, determine how often Marky experimented with his abilities. "Marky," he started to ask, speaking gently. "Do you ever... fly?"

"Sometimes, a little, if I hafta reach stuff up high," Marky admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Dad calls it 'hovering'. He hadta move the cookie jar from the counter to the cupboard because I kept sneaking cookies for me and Molly."

Fumbling with his words, Mark pressed him for more. "That's all well and good, Marky, but do you ever _fly_-fly? Like, _really_ fly?"

On a dime, Marky's face dropped. "Last time I went flying super far, I broke some stuff and-" A sniff broke through his sentence. "-The police got really m-mad at m-me-" His round, wide eyes started to tear up. The initial sniff transformed into a sniffle, one that threatened to turn into full-blown sobs. Horrified, Mark scrambled to placate him.

"Say no more, that makes perfect sense. I'm... sorry for scaring you earlier."

For a moment it looked like he would wipe his nose with his sleeve, before he thought better of it. So quiet that Mark had to strain his very-much-normal ears, he replied, "S'Okay..."

Mark drew in a breath that was more necessary for his nerves than his lungs. Before he could change his mind or chicken out, he offered Marky a hand that was twice the size of his own, and infinitely more powerful. "I think you're long past due for your first, official flying lesson. Don't you?"

Marky eyed the outstretched hand with a blend of distrust and longing, then shrank back. Even by itself, that one, little flinch hurt Mark more than he'd care to admit. Quite against his will, Mark had grown invested in Marky's perception of him. All of his absentee-episodes notwithstanding, he'd _had_ a chance to be a good dad to Terra; now it was Marky's turn.

"Hey..." Mark swallowed, speaking in soft, soothing tones. A string of promises poured out of his mouth. "I'll go slow, as slow as you want. I won't let you fall, and I _promise,_ no police officers will shoot at you."

"Promise?" Marky squeaked in a tone so tentative that Mark barely caught it.

"Promise," he affirmed, and with that Marky took his hand.

It was a tiny hand, tinier even than Terra's, though minutely so. The two were close enough in age that Terra only had the slightest of head-starts on him. Small as it was, Mark could feel the strength and terror behind Marky's grip. He attempted to appease the boy with another smile that still felt more false than anything.

"That's the spirit," snickered Mark as he lifted off the ground, Marky in tow.

Beneath the dense muscles and super strength, Viltrumites could be as light as they wished. They escaped gravity's grasp with hardly a hassle, weightless, feather-like. Slowly but surely, the suburbs below became a toy set. Soon enough they were passing into the stratosphere. Marky held tight to Mark's hand the whole time. As they ascended, Mark made sure to watch the boy's face intently for any flickers of fear.

Up here the air was thinner, but neither Mark nor his charge really needed much of it, anyway. The approaching sunset had painted the sky in stark, striking shades of gold and scarlet. All was quiet, aside from the occasional wisp of wind. Even the clouds hung like still, silent sentries. There was something inviting about them, though, something that probably arose from their resemblance to cotton-candy. Marky's eyes tracked a particularly bloated specimen.

_Thank God the forecast was sunny_, thought Mark with some satisfaction. So far, so good. Now he just had to get the kid comfortable at these heights, starting with basics. _Baby steps..._ "Marky, I'm going to let go, OK? Can you float in one spot for me?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. On the count of three: one, two..."

To Mark's delight, the boy didn't cling to him when he relinquished his hand. Terra had often had problems with that, piggybacking off Mark's shoulder whenever she got frustrated. From the start she'd been a fearless solo flier, but quite unable to steer or control her altitude with any amount of accuracy. Debbie could certainly attest to that...

Though Marky could hover in place, he teetered quite a bit. Mark edged back to tempt him into following. Flying was more unconscious than anything, an ingrained instinct that didn't take much teaching. Something glinted in Marky's large eyes, likely dread at being left alone. He lunged after Mark, dipping and diving a bit, but more-or-less following him in the same direction.

Marky grumbled, "M'not very good."

"Don't worry. It'll come naturally."

"Can you come back?"

Mark abided by his wishes, scooting to his side at a safe enough distance for Marky to grab at him if needed. There had to be some way to get his thoughts off of the terror, some sort of game to distract him. Kids liked a challenge—it motivated them. A plan popped into Mark's head, basic but brilliant, and he darted in to tap Marky's shoulder.

"Tag, you're it."

A brief period of processing passed, after which Marky let out an offended gasp. He lunged for his father, but the elder Viltrumite flitted from his fingers with ease. A fun but frustration-filled chase ensued that took them all across the Baltimore horizon. Mark made sure to keep the most tantalizing of distances from Marky, barely dancing out of range with every tagging attempt. Just when Marky began to appear discouraged, Mark purposefully allowed his tiny hand to tap his head.

"HA! Tag!" the kid crowed, already racing away with Mark in hot pursuit.

"I'll get you for that, punk!"

Marky was as wobbly as a baby bird, fresh out of its nest and taking its wings for a test drive. Gradually, he garnered more confidence, and with it came speed. With continued practice his maneuvers smoothed and became more bold. Delighted shrieks supplanted nervous squawks, and a small seed of pride blossomed inside of Mark at his son's progress. He even forgot about Anissa, or how the kid's gaze sometimes gave him goosebumps of guilt. After what felt like an hour, the game slowed. Young as he was, Marky tired and slowed a lot faster than an adult Viltrumite might.

"How do you go so fast?" he huffed, trailing behind, limp-limbed.

"There's no real trick to it—just practice and time. For a start, though, it'd help a lot if you flattened out your body a bit. Try putting your arms out in front, and don't drag your ankles so much."

"I feel silly," Marky protested, sheepishly dropping the "Superman" pose that Mark had advised.

"Yeah? Well you look _cool_. Come on."

Propelled effortlessly by their wills alone, the two Viltrumites continued their evening flight. The clouds became a playground for Marky. He hopped into them at every opportunity, diving into deceptively fluffy vapour, only to emerge drenched in moisture. At one point, Marky gathered the courage to pop out of a nearby cloud and scream _"BOO!"_, looking not unlike one of those whack-a-mole arcade games. Mark pretended to be surprised for his sake, touched at how much more comfortable he seemed around him.

With dusk came the cooler temperatures and colours. The sky settled into muted purples and moody blues, the tiniest pinpricks of stars peeking through dark canvas. Each clump of cloud was dyed indigo. Mark's damp clothes clung to him, but compared to the chill of space, the cold was almost pleasant. Marky too seemed relatively unaffected, though his chest heaved with exhaustion.

An idea came over Mark, one that caught him by a tendril of thought, consumed the rest, and then refused to let go. He plucked Marky up into his arms, grunting, "Come on."

Blinking innocently, Marky inquired, "Where are we going?"

"I wanna show you something. Just watch."

Curiosity overcoming his shyness, the kid agreed. "Um, kay."

"Deep breath," Mark instructed him, then he shot upwards like a bullet.

The air continued to dwindle until they dangled below space itself, suspended between that invisible barrier between the mesosphere and the thermosphere. The Earth had acquired a curvature to it, a three-dimensional quality that had always awed Mark. Dimming light and a lack of atmosphere brought the stars into sharp focus. They were exquisite like this, absolutely unobstructed by the matte of human pollution and artificial lighting. Some of those stars were ones that Mark had personally visited himself. Distance had tamed them from deadly, burning balls of gas, into dazzling diamonds.

Mark heard a little gasp and spied a pair of awed eyes peering up into the sky. They weren't quite in space, but they were close enough, on that dividing line between Earth and Emptiness. Unfortunately, that small gasp had cost Marky his breath, and Mark was forced to dip back down to where the oxygen was more rich. Though he was wordless, Mark could tell that he'd been moved.

"Where were you when you went away?" suddenly asked Marky in that open, candid way of his.

The usual guilt clawed at Mark's insides, and he was hit with an urge to justify himself, to embellish if necessary. "I was off in space, saving other planets, other peoples..."

Humorously, Marky's mouth dropped open, his jaw hanging nigh-cartoonishly by its hinges. Pure, unadulterated enthusiasm bubbled up his throat and burst forth in the form of a shout. "WOW! Can I come?!"

"Um, no..." Though he hid his discomfort well, Mark hated shooting his son down. All he could do was work fast to remedy that disappointed slump in Marky's shoulders. "I mean, who would look after Earth?"

The usual smile returned, faltering and flattered, but mostly forlorn.

* * *

**/**

* * *

Nights like these made Marky miss his Mom.

Her death was by no means an old wound, but even now Marky had forgotten many of the details of her face, or the sound of her voice. Gone was the memory of how she would comb his hair, or the lyrics of that strange lullaby she liked to sing to him. When left with his wandering, child-like thoughts, he would sometimes remember her and let the sadness return.

Tonight was one of those nights.

It didn't help that he was away from home, in a different room, and with a different Dad. Being all alone certainly wasn't resolving matters either. Every shadow was a monster, and every rustle from the blinds promised fresh nightmares. It was all Marky could do to not curl up and cry. To his horror, the wimpiest of whimpers went whistling through his clenched teeth.

He had to get out of here.

Fear reaching a peak, Marky threw off his loaned quilt and ventured out of his grandma's guest bedroom. The main hallway was marginally less terrifying. Everything was dark. The hazy, indistinct shape of the ceiling felt too tall, and yet at the same time, it seemed to be closing in on him. A twig snapped against a window and made him jump. Needless to say, it was with great relief that Marky ducked into the neighbouring bedroom.

His father's long, broad body occupied the majority of the bed. Pressed up beside him was his red-haired wife, and nuzzled betwixt was the girl. Supposedly, she was his older sister, though Mark couldn't completely comprehend that bit of information. All of this was so confusing.

Most of the kids at his school had only one dad, tops. His classmate Terry had two, but no mommies in living memory, so his situation was considerably less complicated than Marky's. Once, Marky had tried telling his teacher about his space-Dad, but she'd laughed him off, leaving him feeling a little condescended to.

Whatever apprehension Marky may have had towards this space-stranger fled in the face of sleeping alone. As far as Marky was concerned, he'd already proven himself trustworthy during their earlier, aerial lesson. Trembling like a leaf, Marky clambered up the bed and burrowed under the covers. The man breathed once, his chest rising with air that then ruffled Marky's hair on exit. It was as though that single, pronounced breath was an unconscious assurance to Marky, a confirmation of the man's comforting presence.

A sense of safety instantly enveloped him, warmer than any blanket or teddy bear.

At long last, Marky slept.

* * *

**/**

* * *

Sometime after four in the morning, Mark was roused by a gentle jostling. With bleary eyes, he propped himself up on an elbow to discover the source of the disturbance. There was a fourth occupant in their bed that he'd only now noticed.

Marky.

The small shape of his son curled up so close raised a myriad of emotions in Mark. His gut reaction was to be unsettled, which in turn made him feel ashamed. Marky couldn't _help _the circumstances of his birth—on a logical level, Mark _knew _this. But underlying these rational thoughts, a primal part of him saw the child as an unfortunate relic of an event that he'd rather forget. On the other hand, knowing that Marky had sought him out brought a bit of warmth to Mark's heart.

All in all, he was highly conflicted and confused.

Laying all together like this, Mark could almost imagine that this was how things were meant to be. It felt _right_ somehow, natural. In a perfect world, Marky would've been Eve's son, and Nolan would be here to handle the Viltrumites. They would've all lived on Earth, with Marky growing up alongside Terra. Most importantly, Mark would've always _been there_ for his son, would've heard his first words, seen his first steps, helped him through the school doors on his first day...

Something shifting against Mark's side snapped him out of his morose musings. Marky had stirred. His hand blindly pawed for the blanket and found the edge of Mark's shirt instead. One squeaky yawn later, and he had settled back down to sleep. All of Mark's misgivings immediately melted away in a flood of unconditional, paternal love, temporary though it was.

For the first time, Mark gave his son a real, genuine grin. Unfortunately, Marky was too busy sleeping to see it.

Well, he may have missed teaching Marky how to walk, but he'd done something that Scott could never dream of doing: he'd taught his son how to fly.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boink we're back. More domestic stuff. Sappy, sentimental shit.

**Take to the Sky (Part 2/2)**

* * *

"_UP!_"

A combination of things tailored to annoy jolted Mark awake. Morning sunlight trickled through the windows and fell on his face. Terra jumped on his back a second time, her tiny heels digging into his shoulder blades. Her voice rang in his ears, brazen but bright as always. Usually the sound would bring him nothing but happiness, but at present, he could do well without it.

"Everyone else got up before you, sleepyhead!"

Mark's answering groan was muffled, lost in the mattress. Briefly, he squinted around the room with bleary eyes, before burrowing his head out of sight once more. Terra wouldn't be deterred. When yanking the pillow out from under him failed, she alternated between kissing and tapping his face and cheeks.

"Grandma said for me to come get you because we're eating breakfast downstairs. Hurry up!"

And with that she bounced off the bed and straight out of the room, quite literally floating in her excitement. As soon as he felt the coast was clear, and once he'd gathered the appropriate amount of willpower, Mark rolled out of his blankets. Dressing in day clothes was an unusually arduous process. He'd slept very little that night since seeing Marky with them, mind running in all manner of directions.

It wasn't fair.

Just when his discomfort had started to abate, he'd remembered that this was his last day with the kid for however long they would be gone. He'd promised Scott to have him back by noon today, and every minute that went by reminded him of how little time that actually was. Of course, it wouldn't be fair to _Marky_ if he kept him around for much longer, either. By now the kid had to be aching for his dad, sister, and house. He didn't _just _belong to Mark. In all likelihood, he belonged to Mark the least of all.

On the main level, the whole family was spread out and eating pancakes with eggs. Terra had taken over the table with Debbie, while Eve ate on the couch, in quiet conversation with Marky. The sight gave Mark a bit of pause, and he spared a smile on the way to dish himself up. There were plenty of leftovers, no doubt saved by Debbie herself. Her eyes hadn't stopped tracking him from the moment he'd descended the stairs.

"_You OK?_" she mouthed, and he sent her a curt nod.

The kids were first to finish their food, gobbling down stacks of syrup-sweetened pancakes until they were sated. Waiting for the adults to be done converted their boredom into mischief. They zoomed throughout the bottom level, sometimes on foot, and sometimes half-flying, but always shrieking like hyperactive banshees, and always after each other. At first it seemed playful and harmless, although Debbie never hesitated to tell them to stop flying in the house. Her objections were half-hearted at best.

As the screams grew more and more aggressive, Mark wandered into the main living room. Eve was already on the kids' heels, reprimands falling from her lips and fingers prickling with pink energy. On the ship, her favourite tactic for calming Viltrumite children was to contain them in bubbles. Meanwhile, Mark noticed a book out in the open. A battered photo album, to be precise. He plucked it up, sat down in the center of the couch, and set it in his lap.

From the first page his throat started to feel swollen. His father's eyes stared back at him, rendered by paper to be flat and dead. As he leafed through more of the pictures, Mark slowly realized that the reason the album must've been out was because Debbie was looking through it earlier. More often than not the photos included himself, albeit much younger. He and his dad were playing baseball out back in one, or decked out in fishing gear in another, proudly holding a giant trout aloft. Mark lingered on the latest page, with Nolan hard at work behind a keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration...

Just then a child-sized weight plopped down beside him. "Who's that?" Marky pressed, pointing at one photo. Following his finger, Mark's eyes were met with a familiar, purple-hued face.

"That's your uncle Oliver."

Nose wrinkled, Marky said, "He looks'old as me."

"This was taken a long time ago, and he grew up fast."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead," interjected Terra bitterly. She took the remaining place beside Mark, clearly not wanting to be left out of whatever conversation Marky was a part of. Either Eve must've succeeded in calming the kids down, or else they'd just become bored with their game. He felt his wife's eyes on the back of his neck as well. Mark and his picture-book were the most recent item of interest.

"Terra..."

"What? He is. A big bad guy killed him, then you killed the big bad guy."

Mark swallowed down a sigh. Compared to most kids her age, Terra was uncannily accustomed to death, mostly due to her trauma at the hands of Thragg. Oliver's death had been a hard blow, and completely preventable in hindsight. The only person that Mark blamed more than Allen, was himself. By sitting out the fight, Mark hadn't just failed his brother, but his daughter as well. Yet another item to add to the long list of fuck-ups...

Luckily, for most of his life, Marky had been immune to his father's fuck-ups. His distance from the Viltrumite conflict had spared him a lot of pain, and his seclusion on Earth had kept him innocent. Until Anissa's death, that is, though that was only a small taste of what Terra had seen with her own eyes. At the same time as Terra turned her face away to hide her sadness, Marky inched closer, eyes locked on the photograph. There was an uncomprehending curiosity in that stare. He was oblivious to the sense of loss that the other two Viltrumites were lost in.

It hurt Mark to know that this boy would never know his uncle or grandpa, and that Terra might one day forget them with the passage of years.

Very quickly, Mark turned to a new section of the album, as if forgetting his mistakes was as easy as flipping a page. "Anyhow, this big guy is Allen..."

* * *

**/**

* * *

At the top of the stairs, Mark could hear them talking. The time had come for Marky to pack up, and Eve had followed to help. It was just the one day-bag, so it shouldn't have taken them long. And yet, Mark couldn't resist eavesdropping on their voices.

Over the sound of his backpack's zipper, Marky peeped tentatively, "Your hair is pretty."

Mark heard a hum, then, "Thank you. Is that everything?"

"Yep! Even got my toofbrush. Forgot it before."

By the time they were descending the stairs, Mark was already standing at the foot of them. Super speed came in handy sometimes. He felt ridiculous, spying on his own family, but he hadn't wanted to interrupt the moment. In any case, it'd been worth it. His heart felt strangely warm and full from the interaction.

"We're ready to go, then?" he said casually, as if he hadn't been witness to the previous exchange.

All at once Terra was between them. "You're taking him flying _again_?! _We _were supposed to go today!"

"I'm taking him _home_, Terra. There's a difference."

There was no justifying himself to a child. From her point of view, he was going flying with Marky twice in a row. No matter how he may try to explain the situation, she would still see it as utterly unfair. This whole trip must've felt like Marky was diverting attention away from her father, and Mark worried somewhat on how that might affect the two's relationship moving forward.

Terra's betrayed eyes brimmed with tears, lips flapping as she pleaded, "You PROMISED. PLEASE PLEASE PLEA-"

"It can't hurt for her to come along," said Eve at last.

Unsurprisingly, Eve had known just the right thing to say. Five minutes later they were all in the laminar air, a strange trio flying in the general direction of Marky's home. The quiet between the kids was almost peaceful, albeit awkward. Mark shared in their sentiments. He didn't quite know what to say. A part of him was relieved to pass Marky off, while the rest of him was frustrated to see him home after the progress they'd made. It felt like they'd just _started _to bond, only for him to give Marky back to his real family.

The time had felt so fleeting. He wanted to take the kids to a baseball game, out for ice cream, or to that hot dog place in Hawaii that his dad had loved so much... Not one of those things was possible at this point. Maybe another day, but not now.

Not wanting to say goodbye to his son just yet, Mark gradually diverted their course towards the Atlantic for a small sea-side detour. He figured that Scott wouldn't mind them being a _few_ minutes late. If Marky questioned the change in route, he didn't mention it aloud. Past the harbours and away from the boats he paused, waiting for his train to catch up.

He beckoned to the confused children before entering a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment. Scattered water droplets filled the air, but Mark simply blinked them aside. Within seconds his ankles were wet from the waves, a thin wake following his feet. Lagging behind were Marky and Terra, the latter of which dropped fearlessly into the water.

Sea spray splattered across Terra's face and she squealed in a mixture of delight and disgust. Marky cackled to himself as she spat out the brine whilst Mark made his way back to them.

"It's salty!"

An amused Mark shook his head to himself. "Yeah. Most water on Earth tends to be that way."

"_I_ already learned that in school," Marky pitched in, chest puffed proudly.

Rolling her eyes, Terra launched herself at him. There was a short scream, cut off by the water over his head. Then he came up, sputtering and sobbing suspiciously.

"She dunked me!"

"Oh shut up. You can hold your breath! You're not even really crying!"

The crying quickly ceased, Marky's mouth snapping shut and his baffled eyes bulging. An explosion followed shortly afterwards. "...YOU'RE A BULLY!"

"Nuh-uh! You!"

Before things could escalate, Mark put a stop to their screaming match by dunking them _both _at the same time. He held them under the surf for a beat before letting them rear their soaking faces. Although Terra made a show of screaming at him on account of her sopping hair, Mark caught the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. It was all bluster. Marky just laughed, less talented an actor than his sister. It took him a while to catch his breath enough to speak.

"Wait! I think I saw a dolphin down there!"

"Where?!" demanded Terra, dropping her head of her own volition.

Marky followed suit. Together they resembled a pair of ducks or ostriches. With their ears submerged they couldn't hear Mark's raucous guffaws. He wished he had a camera or phone on him. On most occasions, Terra wouldn't be caught dead looking so undignified, but her brother seemed to bring out the worst, and best, of her.

* * *

**/**

* * *

Back on land, trouble was waiting for them.

For discretion's sake, Mark had led Terra and Marky to an uninhabited coast. Ironically enough, rather than finding any humans, he found an ocean invasion instead. A man-like creature was striding up the shore, with a hoard of what looked like walking eels at his back. The dude was fairly Atlantean in looks, as were his buddies. However, they were more dangerous-looking than the typical Atlantean Mark had encountered. An oyster-like ship hovered ominously over the cliffs, extremely compact, but somehow unnerving.

Ah, supervillains... Now this he _hadn't_ missed about Earth.

In the old days, Cecil would've immediately been in his ear, bringing him up to speed on the situation. Mark missed that certainty, because now he had to judge for himself if these people were a threat. They certainly _looked _threatening, and yet... Was his luck really that bad?

After hushing Terra and Marky, Mark dropped unnoticed behind a hillock on the overhanging cliffs. They followed him, and together they peered down on the outlandish invaders. Up close Mark could see that the lead creature resembled a stingray more than anything. He had a long, flat body, grey skin, a barbed tail, and a hooded head, like a cobra. Covering his body was a kind of armour—again, vaguely Atlantean in appearance. With him was a group of long-necked, finned eel-men. The similarities to humans ended at the two arms, upright bodies, and bipedal stances.

Mark was considering a second detour to contact The Immortal when the ship overheard began to hum. A turret emerged from its belly, glowing blue and vibrating with increasing volume as it charged. Impulsively, Mark clutched the children close. The ship fired, an earthquake erupted, and a long stretch of the cliffs was levelled. In its place was a rocky ramp, which the marine-men then used to start scaling the cliffs. Despite its deceptively small size, the ship seemed to be devastating in its own right.

Yep, definitely supervillains.

All at once, Mark shifted into superhero mode. The transformation was automatic. His fists tightened and his face turned serious. Simultaneously, though, something like anticipation sparked inside him, something that was itching for a true fight. It was like old times, like he'd never missed a beat. On occasion he enjoyed the simple problems that he could punch, whether it be Flaxans, sequids, lizard-league goons, or mysterious fish people.

"Stay here," Mark murmured. "I'll take care of this."

"I can help!" Terra hissed after him to no reply. Mark was already on the move.

He decided to engage the head bad guy fist, the creature that Mark had henceforth dubbed "Stingray". If he took out _him,_ the others who deferred to him might flee. Mark was so fast that they never saw him coming. Just before contact, he hesitated, not sure if he should deploy lethal force on a hunch. That hesitation proved to be his downfall. In that moment prior to collision, he became visible.

Alarmed, the front few foot soldiers reflexively lifted their hands. Blue sparked arched along their arms in a wave. Mark saw all this but was unable to avoid what came next. One second he was flying forward, and in the next he'd been flung back, clothes charred. He landed _hard _amongst the sand and the stones, rolled, and slid to a dazed stop.

_**Electric** eels, then. Wonderful,_ thought Mark as he picked himself off the ground. Weren't they supposed to only live in freshwater, anyway?

The attack hadn't hurt so much as tickle or sting. Viltrumites weren't immune to electricity, but it tended to take a lot of gigawatts to make a dent, more than the eels could effectively throw at him. They were no Powerplex or Universa. All the same, it'd been annoying. His body was unharmed, but his brain felt like it'd been microwaved, deep-fried, then left to bake in the sun for good measure. Fortunately he could feel the effects wearing off, and fast.

"Hello," said "Stingray" smoothly. "Our first roadblock. You don't _look_ much like a superhero."

Mark lunged for him, still unsteady on his feet. It was his turn to get a blow in. The Stingray guy tried to step back but got knocked to the side by Mark's backhand. Blood rained onto the sand from his mouth, which gave Mark a bit of pause. Otherwise, though, he appeared to be in one piece.

"Jesus, sir. I'm sorry. Your face just kinda got in the way of my hand, it being so wide and all."

Outraged and coughing, Stingray shouted, "Kill this surface-worlder!"

His tribe of eel-like creatures charged at Mark, bodies sizzling with electricity yet-to-be-released. The current crackled towards him, but met only air. Said air began to pick up speed and sand. As the winds became more turbulent, Mark showed himself, a circling blur that plucked up each individual eel before dropping them in the sea. The height of the drop and the whiplash from the journey must've been enough to stun them, because once they fell, they didn't resurface. Soon enough there were only three eels left behind, and Stingray himself.

"Would someone shoot him?!"

Mark caught a glimpse into Stingray's open mouth and recoiled. Two sets of human teeth stared back at him. That would've been nauseating enough, but at least ten of those teeth were missing as well. Blood was pouring from Stingray's tender, emptied gums. Mark must've hit him harder than he thought. In his defence, he was out of practice trying to _spare _his enemies. With the Viltrumite race under his wing, he had resolved to turn over a new leaf. That resolution was a recent one, untried by conflicts such as this.

"Jesus man, the teeth bit was unintentional, I promise-"

"_FIRE!_"

The ship began to hum as it had before. This time the cannon was aimed directly at Mark. Even as Mark took to the air, it stayed clumsily locked onto his every movement. Clumsily, because it wasn't fast enough. Their systems were unable to compensate for the delay that came with super speed. A flash of turquoise light announced the blast, but Mark's body wasn't there to meet it. On his next gasp Mark inhaled the scent of seared air particles.

To his horror, the beam had hit the hill behind him instead. It exploded in a flurry of dirt to reveal the huddled forms of the children. Clumps of soil and patches of sod rained down on them, and Marky cried out in terror. Though he seemed unharmed, the sound froze Mark's blood. It pierced through the air and to his very core. In contrast to her brother, Terra flew out of hiding, rallied by the wail into action.

Like a child-shaped bullet, she headed straight for the head villain and sent him tumbling. The punch she'd thrown had been clumsy, glancing at best, but with impressive force driving it. That alone had made it effective, even devastating. Only the rest of the eels remained. Terra dispatched them like bowling pins or dominoes, knocking down one after the other.

"TERRA DEBORAH GRAYSON-!"

Mark's bellow went unheeded. Circling back around, Terra took a second plunge towards the throng. Her foes scattered, needlessly, because Terra never completed her flyby. With speed and ease, Mark spared them by snatching the back of her shirt. The fabric was special enough to hold, and in turn, hold _her_.

"Daaaaaad!"

When she'd stopped struggling, and when he was sure she would not fly away, Mark removed his grip. "Go back to your brother. _Now._"

"But they shot at us!"

During this heated exchange, the eels had reconvened. In fumbling unison they aimed and charged their arm-fins. Mark didn't notice the combined assault until it was too late.

An adrenaline rush coursed through Mark's veins, making each incoming bolt feel like it was in slow motion. Every sense was elevated, and his speed had been dialed to eleven. Unthinkingly, he shoved Terra to the side, subsequently taking the brunt of the electricity. He was too slow. In his efforts to save her, his hands had lingered too long on her little shoulder. Some of the deadly current had passed from his person to hers. A tingling sensation locked Mark's limbs, either from the electricity itself or from hearing Terra's cry.

That cry rose and then plummeted into short hiccough-like sounds. With a start, Mark registered that she was laughing. He laughed nervously along as well. Sometimes it was easy to forget how hardy Viltrumite children were, even when compared to the adults. Terra in particular was "one tough cookie", in her mother's words.

Cradling her tummy, Terra snickered, "That tickled."

"It does, doesn't it? Oh alright. We'll take them down together, just this once."

Juxtaposed with Terra's cheering was Stingray's audible gulp.

Terra and Mark were a two-person army. What Terra lacked in refinement she made up for in fervour. The ship went down, a smoking metal mass with two human-sized holes in it. One hole was slightly smaller than the other. Mark hadn't expected Terra to follow him, so he was pleased to see her make it out to the other side, laughing and cheering at her own accomplishment. Below them, the ocean-themed supervillains stared and shook.

Driving them into the sea at that point was easy. After the fact, Mark couldn't help but think that he should've detained them somehow. With children around there wasn't much to be done in that department. Nevertheless, he'd have to call The Immortal later to apologize for letting them get away. That was one call Mark was _not_ looking forward to. Ultimately Immortal was a good man, but time had tempered his disposition. There were few superheroes as pissy as him.

With the fight over, Mark's thoughts rapidly returned to Marky. His gaze strayed from the water and dunes to find Marky huddled behind a new hill. Mark made to retrieve him, but Terra moved faster. By the time Mark had made it to him, Terra was there first, shrieking at the abashed boy.

"You DOOFUS. Why'd you scream? Huh? Huh?! Didja wanna give us away?"

"Terra! He was scared! We all scream sometimes when we're scared, even you."

"I was a BABY back then!" she said, flying off in a huff.

Marky had stayed silent the duration of the spat. The only sign that he'd been following the conversation were the motions of his eyes darting back and forth. Mark half-expected him to burst into tears as he had in the past. No tears showed, though. Instead he just seemed slightly shell-shocked. Casting a shrewd glance at him, Mark drifted over to Terra.

She hadn't gone far. In fact, her posture suggested that she was waiting for him. She stood a few feet away with her back to him and her arms crossed. The sound of Mark landing made her shoulders go lax, as though this whole thing had been a stunt to snag his attention. Shuffling in place, she turned to face him. After a moment or two Mark spoke.

"What was THAT about?"

Terra's toes dug a hole into the grass. "He's dumb," she mumbled. "So I hafta protect him."

"Dumb?" Mark questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Off in the background, Marky rolled over the knoll a third time. He took no notice of them, completely focused on his own little game. As soon as he came to a stop, he'd frisk back to the top of the hill at speeds faster than the human eye could follow. More often than not, he tripped over his own feet in his rush to repeat the pattern. Apparently the attack had not been enough to compromise his spirits.

Reluctantly, she clarified, "_Stupid_. Like a puppy."

Whatever answer Mark might've been expecting, this wasn't it. He didn't quite know what to think of it. There was silence between them again, a silence that didn't last long.

Out of nowhere, Mark nudged her with his elbow. "Hey, I'm proud of you, OK?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. That was some good work out there." Just as Terra started to preen, he added, "By the way, next time you try something like that, you're grounded."

"What?!"

"You heard me. At least Marky had the sense to stay hidden," Mark said to combat Terra's snort.

"Only because he's a scaredy cat!"

"Am not!" said Marky suddenly. He half-stumbled, half-flew to them. Not long ago Terra had flown close to the ground in much the same way, often torn between gliding and jogging, like a plane on a runway. Panting, he pulled up to them. "Is that really what you used to do on Earth?"

"Yes sir."

Not to be left out, Terra asked, "Was it always that easy?"

Something like a smirk slipped onto Mark's lips. "Not always... but most of the time, yes."

"...Awesome..." an awed Marky piped up.

"You OK?" Mark asked him, just to be sure. According to all indications the boy appeared to be fine, but he wanted to double-check. If Terra had taught him anything, it was that children could be surprisingly talented at hiding their true emotions. "Things got a bit dicey back there."

"Yeah! That was so cool! Can we do it again?"

"_No_. Better not mention it to your father, either."

* * *

**/**

* * *

Knocking on Scott's door for the second time felt just as nerve-wracking as the first, though for entirely different reasons. It'd been odd, facing his son when they were little more than strangers. Over the course of the previous day he'd felt that mutual wariness begin to abate. The difference wasn't drastic, but it was there.

Handing him back at this point seemed as wrong as ever, especially because it was so abrupt. It was like building the beginnings of a foundation, only to abandon it to the elements. They weren't close yet, but they _could've_ been if circumstances were different. Overall, Mark's reluctance outweighed his hidden relief. Terra was unreadable. He couldn't determine if she was sulking because Marky was once again commanding his attention, or if it was because he was leaving.

Scott must've already been waiting in the main room, because the door burst open within moments of Mark knocking. The man was visibly shaken, probably because of how late they were. Upon laying eyes on Marky, though, the lines in his face relaxed.

"You're all wet!"

"My fault," Mark said. "We got a little sidetracked on the way here, but he should be fine."

Marky hugged Scott with such naked, palpable love that even Mark was touched. The boy was always so frank in everything he did, like an open book. "Yep! M'fine!"

"And did you have fun?"

"Mhm! Lots!"

"You'll have to come visit Grandma with us again, kiddo-" Mark pulled himself short.

He'd forgotten himself, forgotten that Marky's _real_ father was present. Though he hated to have to defer to someone else's authority, Scott was the one who called all the shots in regards to Marky. He'd more than earned that right. Truthfully, Mark wouldn't be surprised if Scott never allowed him to take out Marky again. Not after today's delay. Not after failing to call, and not after returning his son in such a state.

The tension flew right over Marky's head. His face brightened at the prospect of more flying, more playmates, and more of grandma's cookies.

"Oh! Can I Dad? Please?"

Mark held his breath as only a Viltrumite could. His eyes fell politely on the doormat. Inside he was screaming.

Finally, Scott spoke, eyes twinkling fondly at Marky. "I think that would be fine... so long as you finish your homework."

* * *

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say goodbye to Mark's POV because we won't see it for a while hoho.

**Author's Note:**

> End of Part 1
> 
> Next time: Terra gets more of a chance to shine.


End file.
